


Shadows Across the Camera Lens

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Anal Sex, Castiel Talks Dirty, Companionable Snark, Couch Sex, Crossdressing Dean, Dean in Panties, Dominant Bottom Castiel, Fluff, Lingerie, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Photographer Castiel, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Smut, Submissive Top Dean, Topping from the Bottom, Underwear Model Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a professional photographer for a leading clothing magazine. He doesn't talk much; his words are limited to the instructions he gives to the models he photographs. Despite spending all his time confidently telling models what to do and how to pose, being sexually dominant is nothing more than fantasy for him. Dean is a shy but particularly bratty underwear model with a penchant for women's lingerie, and has no intention of bottoming for anyone. Castiel finds a chance to push his own boundaries when he's left alone with Dean for the first time. Cas is prepared to bottom without complaint, but that's not to say he will be relinquishing any of his precious power to Dean at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows Across the Camera Lens

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the ever-awesome [winglesschester](http://winglesschester.tumblr.com).

Dean had been switching underwear for going on two hours now, the dress-up lady shooing him back and forth between the white screens and the changing room, while he stuffed white bread down alongside his junk to smooth the shapes.

He was finding the job easier than usual; his photographer today was clear on what he wanted, and made no fuss or small talk. Dean didn’t need to be chatted up - he just got in there, flaunted it, and then got paid.

The eighth pair of tight-fitting boxers sat snug around his hips, warming the crack of his ass uncomfortably. He didn’t know why anyone would pay upward of a hundred bucks for this high-end crap, but if they looked anywhere near as good as he did while wearing it, maybe they thought it was worth the money.

“Arms up,” the photographer said, flicking his fingers.

Dean lifted his arms, but didn’t stop there - he curled his hands around the back of his head, pushing out his hips, turning his head to the side and making sweet love to the camera. Eyelids lowered, lips only just parted.

“Hips to the side,” came the next instruction.

Dean did as he was told, fluidly turning his body into new positions, watching through his eyelashes as the photographer stepped around him, flipping levers on his camera. The man’s focus was intent on the tiny screen and on the lighting in the studio; he worked with an unconcerned expression, his mouth in a flat line and his eyes rarely and only briefly making contact with Dean.

The photographer checked the white umbrellas, both turned sideways, which poured light across the studio floor. He turned one off, glancing at Dean, then went for the other, plunging the other half of the studio into mottled cream-coloured shadow.

The dressing lady puffed a note of boredom, tutting as she turned away on tall heels. “I’m going for a coffee, Castiel. You want one?”

The photographer, silent still, glanced up, shook his head, then went back to fiddling with his camera.

The lady stepped back as someone entered the studio wheeling a rack of clothes, carting them into the shadowed area behind the cooling lights. They passed a few stacked props, a couch, a few unused shelves, then stopped when the rack aligned with another empty one.

They then turned to leave along with the lady, and when the heavy door shut behind them, Dean and the photographer were alone in the room.

Dean swung his arms awkwardly. He was good when he knew what to do, but without directions he felt like he was standing on bare feet in his underwear - which was exactly what he was doing. He wrapped his arms around his torso, feeling a slight chill as the draft from the closing door caught up with him.

“Hey, this gonna take long?” Dean muttered, nodding upward to the photographer. Castiel, or something.

Castiel looked up, apparently surprised to hear Dean speak. “Only a moment. We still have a few wardrobe changes to do. I’m just checking how these came out.”

“And?”

Castiel again seemed startled by the sound of Dean’s voice breaking the muffled silence of the small room. “And they’re adequate.”

“You get my good side?” Dean joked, a smile tilting his lips.

Castiel didn’t even answer this time, just shot Dean a somewhat beguiled expression. He went back to the camera, and Dean overlapped his toes, swaying his hips on the spot like a child.

With a sigh, Dean turned his eye to the rack of clothes that had been wheeled in, and he felt a pang of longing and straight-up awe as he saw what they were. Several sets of corsets were hung neatly, various girths and colours adorning all of their frills. They had matching panties, their fabrics looking beautiful even from where Dean stood.

Dean asked Castiel, quietly, “Are we gonna―?” As Castiel looked up, Dean gestured to the rack. “Is that what I’m wearing next?”

Castiel squinted over at the rack, his gaze drawing up and down the area as if expecting to see something else. “Those?”

He looked back to Dean, and Dean nodded.

Castiel’s lips tugged into a strange smile, the first sign of emotion that Dean had seen on him throughout this whole session. “Those are Misty’s. She’s coming in tomorrow.”

Dean’s mouth rounded. “Oh.”

Castiel’s eyes were locked fully on Dean now, camera momentarily forgotten. “Is that what you want? To try those?”

Dean’s lower lip shook, unable to form words. He unfolded his arms, half-heartedly making a shrug, then swallowing as he straightened. “I mean, I’m not meant to - heh―” His eyes darted away to the plain smooth floor of the studio area. “Prob’ly wouldn’t even fit me.”

“She’s a plus-size model,” Castiel said. He sounded almost encouraging, and Dean met his eye, wondering if he’d misinterpreted the fact Castiel hadn’t stopped this conversation dead.

Dean didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place to wear someone else’s shit.

Castiel looked quickly to the rack, then back to Dean. “If you ask nicely, you can go ahead and pick one.”

“Aw, nah. No, I don’t wanna bother her,” Dean said immediately, already embarrassed.

“Not her, me.” Dean gulped at Castiel’s firm voice, and the running growl that seemed to underlie every word. “Ask me.”

Dean’s breath caught, but he couldn’t exactly turn the offer down. “Can I?”

Castiel nodded, and returned his attention to the camera screen, like this whole conversation had never happened. “You have a few minutes to get ready, I need to change the card.”

He wandered off towards the desk at the back where his camera equipment rested, and Dean made for the rack, his heart pounding, his stomach fluttering enthusiastically. His bare feet crossed from the white studio spread to rough carpet, toes touching the duct tape border as he passed it. He felt a discarded staple under his heel, but he dragged his foot and it unstuck just as he made it to the rack.

He ran his hands down the line of lingerie, smiling at the silken frills, and the stitched lace that was fitted over yet more silk, perfectly aligned with the wire bodice underneath.

“Pick something flattering,” Castiel called over, not looking up from his desk. “Something without a protruding breast, I think you might be slightly inadequate in that area.”

“Hey, I’m adequate in every area,” Dean passed back, catching Castiel’s small smirk as he tossed and flipped a fresh memory card into his hand. “But, whatever. You gonna shoot me in this thing?”

Castiel shrugged, his dark eyebrows lifting then sinking along with his shoulders. “You want me to?”

Dean began fingering the fabrics, wondering which colour would suit him best. “If I don’t answer that, what would you do?”

Castiel put something down which clattered, then he was quiet for a moment. “I think you would look nice in pink,” he said.

Dean’s eyes darted to him in surprise. “Really?”

Castiel nodded. “Take the one with the black ribbon. Have you ever worn stockings?”

Dean was startled by the ease with which Castiel asked these things. How many men had he dealt with who had a fondness for women’s lingerie?

“Maybe,” Dean said.

Castiel snorted softly, turning away to adjust his camera lens. “There’s a pair of shorts that go with that one. And the garters.”

Dean’s stomach was still flipping, and he curled his fingers against his skin, hoping to quell his excitement. It was all well and good being _slightly_ hard for his photo shoots, but it couldn’t be good for business if all he was capable of sporting was a full, throbbing erection.

“Hurry up, I’m almost done,” Castiel said.

Dean didn’t need any further prompting. He unhooked the bubblegum pink corset from its hanger and grabbed the frilly shorts that were pinned to their back, then looked around for the garter belt.

“At the back,” Castiel called, pointing to the other end of the rack. Dean hooked his selection over his arm and skimmed through the black stockings, looking for something that was sure to fit. He pried a pair off the rack and slung it along with the rest, then hurried to the changing room.

“How long’ve we got until the lady gets back?” Dean called, locking the door behind him and rolling off his too-warm boxers, ignoring the squashed slice of bread that fell onto his foot. He brushed his half-hard cock down, flinching at the tiny crumbs.

“Oh, she’s not coming back,” the photographer replied, with a low chuckle. “She pours whiskey in her coffee then goes home to water her cats.”

Dean frowned, laughing at the mental image. “Man, has she got the right idea.”

He unzipped the corset halfway at the back, dipping his feet through the top and wriggling it up over his hips. His cockhead dragged on the inner satin lining, and he bit his lip to keep from making any noise in reaction. Turning an arm over his shoulder, he grabbed the tiny zip and tugged it up in increments until he was snugly shut inside the corset’s sweet, silky cage.

He pulled down on its hem, shifting it until it centred on his navel, the bodice fitting to his hips perfectly, the breast cup only hovering an inch away from his nipples. As he bent to grab the shorts, the point of his nipple dragged against the satin, and he tingled all over, curling his toes into the hard carpet.

Determinedly, he put the shorts on, the near-invisible hair on his legs ruffling up as he dragged the lace to perch on his hips.

With no impatience in his question at all, Castiel asked, “Are you almost done?”

“Yeah, just the stockings,” Dean shouted back, withstanding another full-body blaze of sensation as he leant against the wall of the changing room to grapple with the thin black nylon. He lifted his right foot and brushed down the sole for crumbs, before sticking his foot into the toe of the stocking, unrolling it confidently until it sat neatly on his mid-thigh. He did the same with the second, then swept up the garters and made quick work of attaching them. The lace belt fitted well around his waist, elastic suspenders on the front and back of each thigh, pinned with small bows. He smoothed them down, smiling.

It was only as he stood up straight that he realised what a bother being male and eager was going to cause for this shoot. His cock was in no way confined by the lacy shorts; half of his semi-erection poked out beside his thigh. He nibbled on his lip and did his best to shove himself under cover, but he was fucking _hard_.

With a distasteful scowl on his face, he unlocked the changing room door and stepped outside. “I, uh... can’t really do anything about this,” he muttered, gesturing at his dick, then lifting his eyes to the photographer, who was striding towards Dean with his stern blue eyes locked on his face.

“Put these on,” Castiel said.

Dean looked at what he held, and almost choked as he saw he was being offered a pair of strappy black stilettos. “You’re kidding me, right? This is a joke.”

Castiel glanced to the shoes, then back to Dean. “What part of this is funny? I’d like you to wear these.”

Dean briefly considered that maybe he wasn’t the only one who got off on prancing around in frills and nothing else. “Uhhhh.”

Castiel’s jaw set, and he lowered his arm, taking the shoes with him. “What’s your name?” he asked.

Dean had to think for a moment. “Dean. It’s Dean. Winchester.”

“Castiel Seraphine, of Seraphine Photography,” Castiel told him, offering his free hand to shake. Dean took it, his fingers cupping the smooth bumps and curves of the other man’s hand. His skin felt moisturised, soft, but his bones and grip were both firm and satisfying to hold.

They let go and swung their hands back to their sides, before Castiel offered the shoes again. “Try these.”

“Look, man, I’ve never worn... Fuck, I’m gonna fall over,” Dean whispered, frowning as he looked down. “That doesn’t make for a good shoot, I’ll tell you now.”

“Then you’ll sit down,” Castiel said simply. “I’ve done these kinds of shoots before, Dean. I can guide you.”

Dean hesitated, then gingerly twisted his fingers into the thin straps on the back of the shoes. Castiel transferred the weight of them, and they swung from Dean’s hands like fearsome death traps. The heels had to be five inches tall, at least.

With a friendly pat on Dean’s bare shoulder, Castiel walked away to the side of the room. As Dean headed for the camera desk to lean against it, he heard a heavy, grating, scraping noise. He peered across the shaded studio to see Castiel dragging a leather Roman-style sofa with his whole weight. His ass stuck out as he pulled, his mussed hair swaying with every jolt.

“You need help over there, Hercules?” Dean grinned, standing on one foot to secure the base of one shoe to his foot, wrapping its cords in place and buckling the single clasp.

“I’m fine,” Castiel wheezed, making another loud scrape reverberate around the room as all four feet of the asymmetrical couch hit the white surface.

Dean wobbled on his stilettoed foot as he stood on it to put the other shoe on, finally forced to put both feet firmly on the carpet and lean forward to do up the second clasp. His cock was softening, but as he leaned his ass on the desk with a sigh, he came to realise that even while flaccid, the lacy shorts had no chance of containing him.

“Get over here,” Castiel demanded, smacking his hands together after straightening up the sofa in the centre of the studio. He stalked back to the lighting umbrellas, flicking them back on, one after the other. The white studio shone with bright light, rebounding against the darker back walls and into Dean’s eyes.

Dean floundered awkwardly, too afraid to take a single step. “Could I get a little help here?” he asked, faintly.

Castel turned around and rolled up his shirtsleeves again, since they’d rolled down while shifting the couch. He moved to Dean’s side, and Dean shot Castiel an apologetic look as Castiel wrapped an arm around Dean’s hip, forearm banded across his lower back. They walked unsteadily, Dean’s ankles feeling weaker than ever before. But Castiel had surprising strength, and given that the heels made Dean’s shoulders at least five inches higher than Castiel’s, he could loop his arm over his wide shoulders easily.

The sound of Dean’s slow and calculated footsteps changed to gritty _poc... poc..._ as he made the white area, and the relief he felt as he turned and collapsed onto the arm of the sofa was monumental.

“There, that wasn’t so bad,” Castiel said, with a subtle smile. “You’ll get used to them.”

“Huh,” Dean scoffed. He didn’t intend to ever wear anything similar ever again.

“If you’re ready, we’ll get started,” Castiel told him, turning away and heading back to where he’d left his camera.

“Who’s going to even see these shots?” Dean asked, trying his best to cram his junk under the soft but insufficient lace. “It’s not like the magazine would publish them.”

“I won’t tell anyone about this if you won’t,” Castiel said, walking back to Dean’s side with his eyebrows raised. “As far as I’m concerned, these photos won’t need to leave my computer.”

Dean gave a smirk that reached his eyes. “How many men have you hidden in your computer over the years?” he teased, parting his lips in the only way he knew how when faced with a camera: seductively.

Castiel snapped the first shot, his eyes on Dean rather than the screen. “How many men have you stripped for?”

Dean snorted, twisting on the leather to show off his side, hands tilted on his knee and his face turned more to his back than his front. “What gives you the impression I strip at all? I’m an underwear model, nothing else.”

“Really,” Castiel intoned, a sly grin lifting the corner of his lips as he snapped another shot, the white light bursting hot in Dean’s eyes for a split second. “Turn around, face me.”

Dean obeyed, leaning back on his hands and tipping his chin back, eyes set on the round black eye of the camera. It flashed once more, and he relaxed, lifting one arm and skimming it through his lightly-gelled hair, licking his lips and tilting his head.

“More pouting,” Castiel said. Dean bit hard on his lower lip, expecting to let the pressure swell the flesh a little, but before he’d even released his lip, the flash went again.

“Hey!” Dean complained, not used to photographers taking photos before he was ready.

“I see a shot, I take it,” Castiel retorted, bending his knees slightly to align the camera with Dean’s shoulders, still lingering a good few feet away from him. “Lick your lips.”

Dean’s tongue darted out, but Castiel lowered his camera, giving him a firm stare. “Slowly.”

Dean waited until he camera was back up, then he ever so slowly dragged his tongue across his mouth, lips parted, hands skating across the fine fibre of his stockings to rest between his thighs. He could feel himself hardening again, heat turning down his body and collecting between the hem of the corset and the top of the shorts, just where his tummy was bare.

Castiel seemed to notice where Dean’s hands had moved, and without looking back to Dean’s face, he pointed the camera towards Dean’s crotch and took a picture. Dean’s cock throbbed, enjoying the undivided attention as Castiel then moved to kneel on one knee, resting his elbow on his thigh to steady the shot. The flash went as Dean’s thumb self-consciously dragged upward to attempt to cover himself, to no avail.

“Spread your legs,” Castiel said.

Dean squeezed his legs a little tighter.

Castiel huffed at him, lowering the camera again. “This is off the record. Nobody’s getting paid for this time; this isn’t happening in a professional capacity, at all. I’m not whoring you out to anyone. If you want to spread your legs, nobody’s seeing it but me.”

Dean hovered around a decision, swayed by Castiel’s words but still not convinced. This was still work for Dean, so where did the work bleed into play? Maybe at the point where he got an erection, he supposed.

“I want to look,” Castiel added, the honest tilt of his head sending a spiral of want cascading under Dean’s skin, his bowed thighs shifting but not parting just yet. “Dean, let me see.”

“If you ask nicely,” Dean said, his breath stumbling over the words.

Castiel’s teeth almost showed as he grinned, just briefly. “ _Please_ let me see.”

Dean gulped and opened his legs wide, confident with what he displayed. He’d barely felt any trepidation at all, he’d just liked making Castiel ask. Castiel was practically glaring at Dean as he shot a few photos, watching Dean’s very gentle hip movement as he shifted forward on the leather.

“Touch your thigh,” Castiel said.

Dean moved his hand automatically, but paused a few inches from the skin between his garter strap and the shorts.

“Dean,” Castiel said, firmly. “Dean, touch.”

Dean gave Castiel a very defiant look as he lowered his hand, fingertips sliding across his fine skin as if he were sliding through honey.

Castiel gave a low growl, his eye to the viewfinder. “Now your cock.”

Dean sighed, a coil of pleasure unwinding in him. “Fuck,” he breathed, eyes falling closed.

“Dean,” Castiel said again, his camera slumping as he met Dean’s eye. “This doesn’t work unless you do as I say. You’re paid to do as I say.”

“That’s a shit way to run a company,” Dean snapped. “I’m a freelancer, you don’t get to tell me what to do, I just do it ‘cause I’m getting paid as well. But this?” Dean gestured at himself, at his spread legs, at the stiletto heels perched precariously on the white floor. “This, I’m not getting paid a dime to do.”

“You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?” Castiel asked, those bold eyebrows raised again, like a challenge.

“The fuck do you care?”

Castiel paused, something stilting in his thoughts. Then he moved his camera out of his lap, and as he stayed kneeling, he let Dean’s eye draw downward.

Dean panted out a single, tiny breath as he saw the defined erection that was shaping Castiel’s slacks, cock pressed upward against his hip, trapped beneath his belt.

“What, you feel better if I like it, or something?” Dean quipped, not meeting Castiel’s eye.

“Yes,” Castiel said, simply. “There’s no point in doing this if you don’t want it.”

Dean smiled somewhat shyly, turning his face away. How did he say he wanted to continue now, without having to speak and be bashful about it?

He didn’t even need to ask. Castiel raised his camera once more, saying quite clearly, “Touch what I tell you to touch, Dean.”

Dean moved his hand to his cock, but didn’t connect his skin. He waited for Castiel to say it again, reaffirm the order.

“No... turn over,” Castiel amended, nodding as he stood up. “Kneel over on your front.”

Dean flipped, careful on the heels. One foot drew up onto the sofa as he knelt his nylon-caressed knee upon it, hands gripping the tallest edge as he leaned forwards.

“Hips down, like you’re fucking,” Castiel said. Dean breathed out over parted lips as he gradually sank his pelvis downward, feeling his cock starting to strain upward, not quite meeting with the hem of the corset, but almost. The tied bow at the front of the bodice dangled its ribbons, and as one caught over one hand, Castiel snapped a picture from Dean’s side.

Castiel let out a soft breath. “Move your hips.”

Dean tentatively shifted forward, shivering as a strand of unseen fabric slid across his cock, cool and soft against hardened flesh. His knuckles tightened their grip on the ledge of the sofa, holding him steady. “ _Uhhh_ , fuck.”

He heard the camera’s shutter going again and again, moving around the couch while he swayed above it, barely changing position except to tilt his head back, exposing the stubbled curve of his throat.

As he lowered his chin again, his eyes met with Castiel’s face. He was a foot away, his ocean-blue eyes peering at Dean, pupils dilated. Dean smiled, and Castiel... smiled back. Genuinely. The sweetness in his face made Dean’s insides curdle and boil with lust, and he squeezed his thighs together, a wet stream of pre-come oozing its way into the lace shorts he wore.

“Now touch yourself,” Castiel said to him, the unmistakable tone of desire lining his words. His deep voice had become husky, and Dean felt weakened by it, hand already on his cock as Castiel pointed his camera.

Dean’s cock was surprisingly hot; he’d rarely left himself hard for so long without touching. The pulse of it was thick and heavy as he started pulling on it, the scent of his own musk drifting and intoxicating him, making him moan.

“That’s perfect, Dean,” Castiel muttered, the shutter going on Dean’s face, then trailing photos down his flushed chest until the lens rested on the edge of the sofa, directed at where Dean’s pre-come was slicking his hand, wet heat squashing under his grip, flesh shaping to his palm and fingers as he tugged.

“Now what?” Dean whispered, gazing at Castiel through lowered lashes.

“What would you like to do?” Castiel asked, his dark eyes feasting hungrily on Dean’s display. Dean cupped his scrotum, pulling it up gently so Castiel could see it more clearly.

“Don’t know,” Dean said truthfully. “Maybe reach out and touch somebody,” he mused, chuckling at his own reference. But he swallowed down the suggestion quickly, shaking his head. “Uh―”

“Move over,” Castiel said, fluttering a hand. Dean backed up on the couch, still holding onto his cock, thumb tracing circles around the head. Castiel sat down on the sofa, his shoulders leaning on the side which had a back to it. He looked over at Dean with a gentle smile on his lips, and he raised the camera, snapping two more shots: one of Dean’s face, then one of his cock.

“Sit,” Castiel said, petting his thigh.

Dean hesitated, but then moved to do as he said. He straddled Castiel’s wide hips, cock brushing the rumpled parts of his white dress shirt as he settled. Castiel took Dean’s bare hip in one hand, fingers splaying out, thumb nestling against the pointed bone under the V of muscle. His other hand twisted awkwardly to fit the camera between them, clicking a shot of Dean’s crotch as he rubbed himself on Castiel, unable to prevent the need to thrust.

“You know, this isn’t the kind of thing I do,” Dean said quietly, eyes roaming Castiel’s handsome face, stubbled jaw. He looked nothing short of spectacular from up close, his lips tall and well-shaped, yet somehow flat.

“What is it you don’t do?” Castiel said, tilting his head as he fingered the edge of Dean’s shorts down a little bit.

“Sit in guys’ laps,” Dean murmured back, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and leaning in close, forcing him to remove the camera, holding it out to their side instead. “Rub up against strangers. Wear stilettos just ‘cause they told me to.”

“Then this is new for both of us,” Castiel said, slowly, for the first time unable to meet Dean’s eyes - but this time he had no excuse to avoid doing so, nothing to distract him.

“What part of this is new for you?” Dean asked, skimming Castiel’s skinny tie between two fingers. “Humping your models, or taking photos of them while you hump them?”

“Both,” Castiel admitted. “But also...” He snapped a final picture, of Dean’s cock poking through Castiel’s two open shirt buttons and rubbing on his midriff. Then he put the camera down on the sofa, and it shut itself off, whirring until the shutter closed and it was silent. “But also this, giving direction outside of photography. That’s a first for me.”

Dean felt Castiel’s legs part under him, and he sank down into the dip, his cock pressing resolutely against the bulge in Castiel’s stiffened slacks. “But you were still doing photography up ‘till now.”

“But I’m not, now,” Castiel said, glancing up to meet Dean’s eye. “And I still want to give you orders.”

“I’m not obligated to take them,” Dean warned, with a quirk of a grin.

Castiel scowled, curling a deft hand around the nape of Dean’s neck, lowering his face until their noses were almost touching. Dean followed the guide, eyes closing automatically as his lips were touched by Castiel’s, a firm press of his mouth letting him feel the grooves in Castiel’s soft lips, the tiniest press of teeth where Dean’s mouth was breached. Tongue prodded in, hot and slick; both of their soft, testing licks were rewarded with pangs of sweet saliva, new and foreign and gorgeous. Dean sealed their mouths fully, groaning as he sank into Castiel’s mouth, feeling determined fingers grasping the back of his hair, palm flat to his crown.

They pulled apart with barely a click of sound, just a gasp of air, which seemed bland and peculiarly dry after such a rich application of human-to-human senses.

Dean chuckled softly, teeth nicking his lower lip as he fluttered his eyelashes over Castiel’s high cheekbone. “Wow. Good kisser.”

“I could say the same for you,” Castiel replied, the hard resolve in his eyes playful now.

“Do I get to tell you to take your clothes off?” Dean ventured, chancing a look at where Castiel’s pre-come was patching his slacks a darker black. “Or are you still giving the orders?”

“Let me up,” Castiel said.

Dean almost fell over backwards in his hurry to stand, forgetting that he wore heels. He snarled at them, gripping Castiel’s forearms with both hands. “I’m taking these fucking things off, or I’m gonna break my damn neck.”

“They make your ass perk up,” Castiel told him as Dean pointedly ignored him, sitting back on the sofa to unlatch both shoes and kick them away. The stockings he wore made them slip easily, and they were each flung half the room away, clattering to a stop on the line between white and carpet.

“My ass is already plenty perky,” Dean said, his warm feet feeling soothed by the cool flatness of the floor as he stood up again. “And I can’t even see yours yet, so start stripping.”

Castiel growled low, eyes flashing with something deliciously dangerous as he stepped into Dean’s space, the inch of height he lacked taking nothing away from fierceness he exuded. His spiced scent folded into Dean’s senses, making him lap at his lips, tasting the air.

“Don’t... give me... _orders_ ,” Castiel ground out, his nose almost touching Dean’s. But then he smiled, eyes flicking away, then back. “Yes,” he said, a touch of surprise in his voice. “I like that.”

Dean trembled, lips parting wide as Castiel pulled him close to put a rough kiss on his mouth, making Dean swallow around nothing, drawing out a long and slightly unmanly moan from his throat.

“Yeah,” he whispered, as Castiel nosed him away, the sound of a zipper letting him know that Castiel was undressing. “Yeah, wow, I kinda like that too.”

“Go and put my camera on my desk.”

Dean glanced at Castiel’s face as he unbuttoned his shirt, leaving his tie loose around his neck. Then Dean looked to the camera. “Nah,” he smirked. He picked up the camera and slid it across the floor, but it only got five feet away before stopping.

Dean looked up to see Castiel looking at him with thunder behind his eyes. Dean just smiled, shrugging and adjusting his garter belt, stockinged toes wiggling excitedly.

Castiel was up in his space all of a sudden, half-undone shirt dragging Dean’s corset. Dean straightened, determined not to back away as Castiel breathed his air. “That is a very expensive piece of equipment,” Castiel said, almost biting Dean’s lips. “I won’t have you damage it.”

“My ass is about the same, hombre,” Dean snarked, a twitch in his face speaking nothing but defiance.

Castiel’s lip curled, a fast hand going to grab Dean by the thick roots of his hair, not hard enough to sting, but hard enough that he was shocked, gasping as he found his eyes an inch from Castiel’s.

“You little shit,” Castiel breathed against him, baring his teeth half in a smile, half in a clear warning. “You don’t get to do that to me.”

Dean kissed him, forcing Castiel’s head back as their mouths connected. Dean grinned as he swayed away free of Castiel’s grasping hand. “What’re you gonna do, huh?” He spread his arms, raising his eyebrows in invitation. “Spank me?”

Castiel seemed to lose his resolve, gaping like a goldfish for a second before he shook his head. “No, I don’t really enjoy that.”

Dean smiled, chuckling; he and Castiel both seemed pretty intrepid at this game, but were still unsure, testing their boundaries, not only with each other, but with themselves. “It’s cool, man, I was kidding.”

Castiel brightened, then turned on the bedroom eyes again, whipping his shirt off his arms and letting it collapse to the floor in a flutter of white. His tie was hung like a casual noose from his neck, the tip of it trailing through the line of pubic hair that led down from his dipped navel.

With another burst of warmth spreading in him, Dean realised Castiel’s tie was on backwards, the inside pattern visible as it rested on his belt buckle. Castiel undid that very buckle as Dean watched, touching himself, for want of something to do with his hands.

Dean stepped forward before Castiel even had his socks off, and was still standing on one foot to remove his shoe. Dean took him gently by the hip, making him look up inquiringly. With a mild shove, Dean indicated that Castiel should lie back on the couch.

But Castiel got a steely glint in his eye, and he shrugged Dean off, instead returning to his shoe and at last making his feet bare. Then, he rounded on Dean, whose eyes were lingering on the form-fitting navy boxers that Castiel wore. They weren’t fancy at all, they only looked to be supermarket-brand cotton elastics: inexpensive, acceptably attractive - and presumably comfortable. Dean decided there and then that Castiel was the right sort of man to share this with.

Castiel put a tender kiss on Dean’s lips, licking his mouth open to taste him again. Dean moaned faintly, a hand taking Castiel’s tie in his grip and turning it around his fingers, anchoring himself.

But Castiel swayed them around, and with a firm push, Dean fell back onto the sofa, arms splayed over the slanted back, his corset riding up a little.

Castiel put a knee into the leather at the side of Dean’s thigh, leaning forward to finger the dangling black bow on Dean’s corset. “Do you still want to keep this on?” he asked, prodding at the firm bodice.

It was a bit constricting, but for their current activities, it didn’t seem a hassle. “Depends what you have planned.” Dean smiled, feeling his doe-eyed look take over as Castiel leaned in for another kiss.

This time they made out languidly, Castiel sighing as he rolled their lips, fingers cupping Dean’s jaw. Their heads tilted against each other, Dean’s eyes closed so neatly that even the lights of the studio weren’t bothering him.

“Hey, uh... Cas?”

Castiel hummed a questioning note, rubbing his clothed erection against Dean’s garter as one hand held steady on Dean’s clavicle. He said nothing about the shortened name, which made Dean smirk triumphantly.

“We need a safeword or somethin’?”

Castiel blinked in surprise. “Why would we need one? What do _you_ have planned?”

“I dunno; nothing.” Dean smiled, curling a hand around Castiel’s lower back, forcing him to grind down into Dean’s crotch, erections so close to touching but separated by the cloth of Castiel’s boxers.

“There are... things I would like to do to you,” Castiel said, speaking directly into Dean’s ear. His voice grated on Dean’s skin, vibrations running deep in his bones and coaxing up a groan.

“What things?”

Castiel nuzzled Dean’s ear, and Dean felt his smile against his earlobe. “Fuck... you.”

Dean squirmed, his hands feeling weak where they held onto the naked skin in the dip of Castiel’s back. “I’m not - Cas, I’m not that. I’m not some friggin’ _bottom_.” He eased Castiel away from him, letting him stand up. A spark flashed in Castiel’s eyes as he rolled down his boxers.

Dean tried not to be distracted by Castiel’s cock, and yet, he kind of was. He swallowed his whine, but it definitely crossed his mind that as far as cocks went, Castiel had a very nice one. He was long and meaty, and his foreskin was wrinkled lightly around the rim of his cockhead. His skin was darker between his legs, and seemed tender in a way, despite how blatantly animalistic his erection was.

Castiel stood proudly, letting Dean sit frozen, staring. He couldn’t quite breathe. But then he realised the reason for that, and grumbled and turned away, wrestling with his corset to grab the zipper.

He had barely taken hold of it before Castiel came forward and craned over Dean’s shoulder to unzip it for him. Being so close, his scent invaded Dean’s senses again. God, it was like the colour gold, or pressed ginger root - ripe and heady. Dean would have been content to lie there and just breathe him in, were it not for his desire to get off sooner rather than later. His cock ached, his hands and mouth were hungry.

Dean sighed in relief as the corset fell off his torso. “As pretty as they look,” he said, nudging the open corset away with his toe, “these things aren’t half as much fun to wear.”

Castiel made a gruff sound of acceptance, and stroked Dean’s stubbled jaw with the backs of his fingers. “What was it you were saying, Dean? About not being a bottom?” He smiled altogether too smugly as he sat heavily beside Dean, his bare, slightly hairy thigh pressing up against Dean’s stocking.

“I’m not,” Dean said. “My ass is for magazines and billboards, not... dicks.”

“Do I detect a veiled insult?” Castiel asked, resting his forehead against Dean’s ear. Dean watched Castiel touching himself, his tanned fingers working their way up and down his sturdy length, expert twists and tickles showing off both his dexterity and apparent sexual prowess.

“My insult wasn’t that veiled,” Dean muttered, eventually. He was very distracted. His own cock was throbbing with need, since, at the simple thought of fucking, he’d gotten the idea into his head that he might actually be getting some penetrative action today.

“You know what you are, Dean?” Castiel groaned, lips dragging Dean’s cheek.

“What?”

Castiel chuckled low, his empty hand moving to twist into Dean’s hair, turning his face to meet Castiel’s. They stared at each other from less than an inch apart, and with a smile, Castiel hissed, “Impudent.”

Dean snarled, his sound broken by a laugh as he pounced on Castiel, straddling his lap, hands going to his hair, pulling. Fingers that weren’t his own found his cock, and Dean cried out in surprise and pleasure as Castiel fingered his slit, thumb pressed against his frenulum so tightly that Dean saw moving lights.

“Won’t fucking let you _fuck_ me, okay,” Dean forced out, combing his hands through Castiel’s hair to drag him closer, panting over his mouth as their lips pressed close, their shaky kiss only lasting a second. “I never got fucked before, and I’m not starting now.”

“So what would you say to me, then?” Castiel asked, tone harsh, but still good-natured. “What would you say if I told you _I_ enjoy being... _penetrated_? Deeply, fully... completely.”

Dean’s heartbeat seemed to still for a moment, but the fireball of heat passed. Breathless, Dean grinned, “I’d say _hell_ yeah, motherfucker.”

Castiel just about moaned into Dean’s ear, hands all over him as he played with his parts, tossing Dean heavily in his lap, trying to touch every inch of him. Castiel swivelled their bodies, and Dean curled back over the single armrest of the sofa as Castiel slid his hand inside the lace shorts, cupping Dean’s scrotum, putting a delicate, perfect pressure on him that caused him to let out a hoarse scream, eyes closed.

“Does that feel good?” Castiel said, words hushed yet sharp as he spoke against Dean’s throat. “You like being squeezed like that?”

Dean moaned aloud, unable to form words. Every muscle was tense, clasped down by those long fingers, that beautiful pressure. Castiel knew what he was doing, and he did it well.

Castiel started to jiggle his hand, bursting pleasures like explosions through Dean’s body. Dean yelped again and again until he laughed, head falling back as pre-come spurted from him, _hot_ , sinking into the fabric he wore.

Castiel chuckled and gradually stopped moving his hand. His grin lined the bristles on Dean’s chin, sultry gaze playing over Dean’s face; Dean tried to watch him through the haze of shock that still clouded his mind - he hadn’t expected to feel that good, so intensely.

“Ohhh, yeah,” Dean groaned, laughing again as Castiel’s hand slid away from him. He was overcome with dizziness now, the kind that went beyond his head, swirling in every limb at once, in his bloodstream.

Dean shifted on the sofa, sitting up and wriggling his ass so he could feel Castiel’s erection under him. He made experimental hip movements, letting his panties catch and drag on Castiel’s hard cock, almost - _almost_ pressing against his anus through the cloth. While Dean didn’t want to try bottoming right now, he had to admit to himself that he wasn’t ruling it out forever. Even the feeling of lace tickling the wrinkles around his hole sent minuscule spasms all the way to his toes.

Castiel had darkness in his eyes as he watched Dean riding him gently; his gaze was ferocious, mesmerising. Rings of blue surrounded the blackness, shining with the light that came from hot skin, hot bodies. Shit, his hands held Dean’s hips with so much intent. Gripped tight. There must have been finger marks in Dean’s skin already, and he was barely moving at all.

Dean’s eyes roamed Castiel’s face until he found his mouth, and sank forward to be enraptured by a kiss, lips pressing, tugging, clicking with saliva. Castiel sucked on Dean’s breath, on his tongue, eyelashes flickering over Dean’s cheek.

When Dean groaned with pleasure, Castiel seemed to decide that was enough. He pushed Dean backward off his lap, leaving Dean collapsed in the corner of the couch while Castiel vacated it and started to walk away. Dean flared with deep-body panic, gasping out, “What? Cas? Wh-what did I do wrong?”

Castiel turned around on the border between studio and carpet, a spirited grin curling of side of his lips. “I’m going to get lube from my bag.”

“Lu- Oh!” Dean sank down and pulled a leg up to rest his cheek against, hiding his blush. He’d thought Cas was bailing on him.

While Castiel was on the other side of the room getting what he needed, Dean fingered the band of his stockings. The black nylon hugged his bowed thigh with a slim ease, the garters’ clip decorated with a tiny satin bow. He played with it, trying not to think about the hollow feeling of embarrassment that swam in his gut. He hated being left alone, especially when someone had gotten as intimate with him as Castiel had.

Dean took a steadying breath as Castiel returned, a small clear bottle and a condom in one hand. He smiled, slipping his fingers over Dean’s crooked knee to make him lower it. Dean did, and gulped as he looked up. Castiel’s presence was reassuring.

“You thought I was leaving you,” Castiel said quietly, flicking open the bottle of lubricant with a thumb. His eyes were set on Dean’s, and that contact offered an indescribably high level of inner security for him. “I’m not going anywhere, Dean.”

Dean didn’t even care that Castiel could see him blushing. Lips parted, Dean muttered a quiet, “Thanks.”

Castiel hadn’t asked about Dean’s fear - maybe he didn’t need to. But Dean loved that he didn’t. Dean didn’t want to talk about how lacking his life was in any department that wasn’t related to his good looks.

He shivered internally as Castiel lifted Dean’s hand and parted his fingers, sliding between them to hold onto him. Castiel climbed into Dean’s lap, backwards skinny tie swinging over Dean’s bare shoulder as Castiel settled.

“Now,” Castiel said, “I want you to open me up. Put this on your fingers―” He turned the open bottle upside down, pulling Dean’s hand under the gloopy trickle of it as he squeezed, “―and rub some into me. Can you do that?”

Dean scoffed gently. “Obviously.”

Castiel gave him a sly smile. “One can never be too sure.”

Dean grinned, discarding the discomfort from moments earlier. Cas’ teasing had brought him back from that, and Dean threw himself into the game again. “You think I’m stupid just ‘cause I’m pretty?”

“I think your ability to follow instructions may need some work,” Castiel corrected, almost rolling his eyes as he grabbed Dean’s slick hand, then lowered it between his parted legs as he knelt up, the tip of his erection sliding on the wax-smooth skin on Dean’s stomach.

Dean took in an overly-aroused breath as his fingertips were set on their mark, pressed to Castiel’s tiny hole, puckered and dry. His fingers were so lubricated that it took no effort to slip one inside, and Dean’s eyes shot to Castiel’s at once, craving the sight of him, wanting to see what he looked like as Dean entered his body.

Castiel held his gaze, shadows of absolute lust driving fires in him. Dean was bewitched by how he looked at him, hungry for it. But even beyond that, Dean knew he wasn’t imagining the tenderness in this man. His words were cutting but his actions were kind. Now, he stroked the back of Dean’s neck as two of Dean’s fingers massaged at the muscles of his entrance.

Dean enjoyed how it felt, feeling Cas opening up around those fingers. But the best part - maybe the only part he cared about - was that Cas wasn’t looking away from him. He wasn’t closing his eyes to groan, he wasn’t laughing and looking down to see the awkward angle of Dean’s wrist. He just gazed steadily at Dean. Dean loved it. He loved it, he loved it. He could even imagine that he was being _cherished_ right now, by someone he’d known for years, someone who he loved back, and that was his favourite thing in the world. How Cas had known to do that, to look at him _that_ way, he couldn’t imagine.

Dean’s toes clenched in excitement as he pressed his fingers deeper, sliding inside to his second knuckle. Cas’ entrance was smooth, the muscle tight but easy to manipulate. Dean tested his movement, pretending to fuck his hole with his fingers. He knew that affected him more than it affected Cas; Dean moaned through a half-open mouth, eyelids fluttering as tension coiled in him, then sprang away. Castiel only sighed.

“You’re so hot,” Dean breathed, locking his eyes to Cas’ again. “Like, the sexy kinda hot, but also... you’re fuckin’ burning my fingers, man,” he grinned. His grin fell and rose minutely in a moment, and he had to pause to swallow. “God... I... I can’t wait to get inside you.”

“Patience, Dean. Show me you have that quality, at least.” Castiel’s fingers stroked back Dean’s hair, soothing. His hips lifted and sank, and Dean moaned again as his two outstretched fingers were surrounded completely, suction all around, feeling so much human heat. He heard the soft squishy sound as Castiel began to fuck himself on the small probing digits, a coy smirk on his lips.

Dean watched Castiel’s mouth for a while, panting, back rigid, holding himself as close to Castiel’s body as he could be without pressing to him completely. Cas’ cock was dribbling wetness on Dean’s belly, and Dean wanted to look at it, but he also couldn’t look away from Castiel’s lips.

“Why don’t you kiss me, Dean? If you’re thinking about it?”

Dean licked his lips, gaze rising to Castiel’s eyes to check with him. “Actually I was thinking about your cock. But―” He examined Castiel’s pink lips again, and smiled. “I wouldn’t mind kissing you.”

“Kiss me, then.”

Dean slipped another finger inside Castiel without warning as he set their mouths together, and he was struck with a great feeling of satisfaction as Castiel whimpered into his mouth, his hand starting to sweat on the back of Dean’s neck. Castiel broke the kiss not a moment later, teeth bared, nicking Dean’s lower lip.

“I didn’t tell you to put another finger in,” Castiel said, head down. Dean’s stomach flipped, enjoying Castiel’s staged anger.

“I _wanted_ to put another finger in,” Dean grinned. He bit Castiel’s lip, sliding his teeth side-to-side until Castiel made a sound, then he let it pop free. Dean kissed him quickly to soothe it, since it would be smarting now.

Castiel groaned low, a slight smile on his lips as he shaped words to Dean’s mouth; “You’re more insubordinate than I thought... Naughty little thing.” He grasped Dean’s frill-covered ass with both hands, grunting out, “ _Auh! Yes..._ P- mm... Put another in, Dean.”

Castiel’s breath trembled as Dean sank his fourth finger inside, causing Castiel to groan out a string of _aah, aah, ahh!_ sounds, which rose in pitch as he got used to the stretch. Dean adored having Cas at the mercy of his hand, while still wanting Cas to snap at him. There was a give-and-take, and Dean was having fun stretching the rules, since there were none established.

Castiel rounded his lips, pushing out a long breath between them. He sighed finally, and his shoulders relaxed. He caught Dean’s mouth in another rolling kiss, a fury behind this one that had Dean’s gut tighten with enthusiasm. He liked how forceful Cas got, that hand behind his neck pulling Dean closer. His teeth were a part of the kiss as much as his tongue was.

Dean slid the hand that wasn’t stretching Cas’ hole off Castiel’s shoulder, and put it on his lap so he could tug at himself. He didn’t bother slipping his fingers under the lace, but pulled at his hardened shape with the fabric bunched between his fingers and his cock. He smeared the pre-come, letting his hand get sticky without much care.

Castiel separated their lips so he could look down, watching Dean touch. Dean watched him watching, and waited for any sign of reaction as he crooked his fingers inside Castiel’s ass and searched resolutely for his prostate.

Castiel made a wavering sound of gladness as Dean found it, the slick pad of his forefinger skimming over the nub inside him. Castiel dipped his head low, forehead on Dean’s shoulder, breathy sounds escaping his lips.

“You feel that?” Dean whispered, lips on Castiel’s neat jawline. “Feel that, Cas?”

“Yes,” Castiel whispered, shuddering. “Ohh, yes... yes...”

“Gonna make you feel that when I fuck you,” Dean promised, the tip of his tongue reaching to taste the skin of Castiel’s cheek. He was sweet. Dean guessed that all of him tasted that good, and he wondered if Cas would be opposed to testing that theory.

Castiel bucked suddenly, growling out, “I - oh! I think I’m almost... ohgodrightthere. Yes, yes! Dean! De―”

“Sh, sh, sh,” Dean hushed, slipping out of Castiel, fingers arranged in a firm flare as he retracted them to give Castiel’s muscle a final stretch. “You’re not gonna come yet, not until I’m done with you.”

Castiel laughed. “You think you’d survive me?” He met Dean’s eye with a spark in him, bright as always. “You really think I’d come before you, Dean?”

Dean gave his most confident grin. “I pride myself on my stamina.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows and clucked at him. “I’m assuming that’s code for ‘I can’t get myself off at night so I lie there until I manage it’.”

Dean sneered, barriers forming instantly due to how close to truth that accusation was. “You don’t know anything about me.” He shoved at Castiel until he had to stand up, cock only half-hard now, but rising with a twitch. 

“That is true,” Castiel grinned hugely, returning to Dean’s lap straight away, swaying his hips as he mounted him, legs open like before. “Perhaps I ought to _get_ to know you.”

Dean kissed him, trying to hide the expression of hope that crossed his face. To Castiel’s lips, he mumbled, “Mmmaybe you should.”

Castiel chuckled, nosing Dean’s cheek. “Let’s start by completing the task at hand, shall we? Come on, Dean.” He ducked his head away with his eyes set fully on Dean’s, the most enticing expression on his face. “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll start.”

“I’m ready now,” Dean huffed, lifting his lips and lining his cock up with Castiel’s slippery hole.

“Oh, no,” Castiel scolded. “No you aren’t.” He pointed a firm finger towards the space on the couch beside Dean, and when Dean looked over, he saw the single condom packet. “No flaming sword gets sheathed until there’s latex over it.”

Dean scowled, knowing he’d been too eager and had forgotten. He reached for the packet and tore it open with one sweaty set of fingers and the corner of the foil in his teeth, since his other hand was too slippery with lube.

Castiel pulled Dean’s cock out of his lace shorts, and slid his fingers up and down its length a good few times to get it completely hard. Dean purred it how it felt, how it looked when his skin wrinkled at the side of Castiel’s fist. Then he watched Castiel’s face, because that was just as good. Seeing him smile, seeing his eyes connect with Dean’s while they touched like that.

“Go on, Dean. Or, do you need more encouragement?”

Dean swallowed. He wouldn’t have minded sitting there with Castiel’s hand around him, but he did want to move things forward. Head lowered, he pinched the tip of the condom and unrolled it down his length with his slick hand. Pre-come stuck to one entire inner side where it had trickled down, but before Dean got the chance to even out the cling of it, Castiel had wriggled forward, preparing to sink himself down on top of Dean’s cock.

“You’re gonna...?” Dean breathed. “Oh my god, oh my god...” Shit, he was so fucking excited for this.

Castiel paused before letting his body go lower, however. Dean looked up, pained at the delay.

Castiel had a devilish glint in his eye, and Dean’s resolve crumbled. “Aw, screw you,” Dean complained, probably looking as upset as he felt. “Don’t fuckin’ make me wait...”

Castiel cooed behind his closed mouth, clearly taking pleasure from the discomfort Dean was now in. “I’ll make you wait until I’m satisfied you can obey my instructions,” he said.

“The fuck does that mean?!”

“It means...” Castiel tilted his head, curious. He was undeniably ravenous, but he was holding himself back with great force of will, for the sole purpose of torturing Dean. “It means you have to tell me what you like best. What do you like having touched?”

Dean balked. “What?”

“Answer the question, Dean, it’s not difficult. What makes you shake at the knees even when you’re not in bed with someone? What could get you off without any other touch?”

Dean’s face coloured, and a bolt of insecurity nestled deep in his stomach. “Why the hell do you want to know that?”

“Because I’d like to indulge you,” Castiel whispered. “Tell me, and I’ll let you fuck me. Aren’t you desperate for it, yet?” He carried an infuriating air of smugness in his tone. He was just playing with Dean, batting him around - and God help him, Dean was enjoying it.

Dean looked at his cock, which was still hard as a fucking pole. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was turned on by the waiting, the way Cas obviously wanted to be fucked but was resisting so Dean would talk.

Dean didn’t really see a downside to telling him. “Uhh...” He swallowed. “I like having my nipples played with. And―” He shrugged. “What you did before, when you looked at me. And when you put your fingers between mine, that was nice too.”

Castiel’s expression had changed as Dean spoke, but Dean tried not to worry about it. Castiel seemed confused now, that cocky attitude lowered to nothing. He squinted at Dean, then asked, “What did I do when I looked at you?”

Dean’s eyes skipped between each of Castiel’s, now knowing he’d missed something. “Uh. Nothing. What? You looked at me, that’s all.” Nervous now, he lowered his gaze and rolled his hips up, wanting so badly to be inside the heat and tightness that Castiel offered.

“Not yet, Dean,” Castiel said calmly, stroking Dean’s hair back. “Tell me what you meant.”

Dean scoffed. “No. Just― Seriously.” He grabbed Castiel’s beautifully squashable ass and tried to push him down. Castiel cock pulsed in reaction, but Castiel refused to move his hips.

“Dean.” Castiel’s tone was soft now, as were his fingers as he caressed Dean’s jaw. Dean ached throughout his whole body as he met Castiel’s eyes this time. Oh, Dean was going to lose. Castiel had him wrapped around his words, locked to every command.

Castiel kissed his lips, just once, then said, “Tell me what I did that you liked, because I want to do it again.”

Dean laughed ever so softly, too shy to hold Castiel’s eye this time as he spoke. “When you stared at me and I stared at you. I liked how you looked at me, that’s all.”

“How did I...?” Castiel trailed off, possibly answering his own question in his head. He hummed a sigh. “I see. You want that again.”

Dean swallowed, fiddling with the bow on his garter, then with the hair on Castiel’s thigh. He didn’t need to answer, since it hadn’t been posed as a question.

“I’ll let you fuck me, now,” Castiel said, putting a kiss on Dean’s forehead. “Go slow.”

Dean licked his lips in anticipation, then slid his hands to grip Castiel’s waist. Castiel made sure to hold his gaze, but Dean felt self-conscious now, and instead looked down, taking care as his hot, hot member was devoured by the even hotter muscles of Castiel’s hole.

Dean moaned softly as his head fell back, head bumping the backrest of the sofa. His eyes closed tight, shutting out the white burn of the studio, instead falling into the light inside his own head, shining brighter with the deeper, deeper, _deeper_ sinking of Castiel’s body.

“There,” Castiel breathed, giving a small grunt of satisfaction as he was pushed up to Dean’s hips, cock completely inside. “Well done, Dean.”

“It was a stupid instruction,” Dean stated, referring to Castiel’s request for secrets.

Castiel didn’t respond to the childish snip, but began to rock on Dean. Soft squishy noises started them off, as the lubricant was still fresh and extremely wet.

Despite the physical sensation of wholeness, Dean couldn’t take his mind off what he’d told Cas. Not two minutes before, he’d thought Cas didn’t know enough about him. Now he knew too much.

Dean was a lonely man, too lonely. Nobody looked at him the way he wanted to be looked at.

He kept his eyes shut, thumbs nudging at Castiel’s muscular hips. He liked the V-cut, the smooth skin that graduated into thick pubic hair at his middle. Dean explored the tangles with his fingers, combing it out. It wasn’t like touching himself, because Dean was hairless. Dean pulled on the hair, then found his way to Castiel’s bobbing cock, and helped him out a little.

Castiel made a short, affirming noise of enjoyment, ended with a chuckle. “You’re not going to watch?”

“I can feel,” Dean muttered. He didn’t need to look. He didn’t need to see that beautiful softness in Castiel’s eyes - it was going to be too much now, and Dean was sure of that.

Castiel’s breath puffed sharp and fast, humping movements making Dean’s skin prickle with tiny falling stars all over, swooping in his gut, twining a coloured Aurora Borealis through his inner skies. Behind his closed lids, Cas was making him see so much. Castiel’s body was filled up with _Dean_ , and that fact alone made Dean want to moan and writhe about, but he held still. Cas was right, he was completely right - Dean wasn’t made for this, he was going to break well before Cas was done with him. Dean didn’t have the stamina for this kind of reality.

Castiel grunted, “If you won’t watch... _ah!_ At least tell me what you’re feeling.”

“No,” Dean said. How was he meant to tell Cas that his ass on his cock made him sprout vapid, badly-formed poetry inside his head, made him feel more flawless than airbrushing and glossy paper could ever make him? Being attended to this way was a far cry from what he was accustomed to, but he was realising now that he wasn’t equipped to deal with being appreciated.

Castiel slowed down, but when Dean noticed that, Castiel had already stopped.

Dean opened his eyes, wondering why Cas had quit bouncing.

When Castiel met his eyes, Dean took in a shallow breath.

“You were far more responsive before,” Castiel said softly. “Don’t you like it?”

Dean opened his mouth, unsure how to answer. Cas was looking at him again, like _that_. Dean didn’t know what to do any more.

He lurched forward and swallowed Castiel’s mouth in a gentle kiss that was meant to serve as distraction, but very quickly became passionate, engulfing them both. Dean frowned deeply, hands pulling Cas’ back, trying to tug him closer. Dean thrusted upwards, bold and excruciatingly desperate, just wanting to get deeper, fuck harder, to get Cas all around him.

God, he wanted to do this forever, feel that tightness, that furious ache in his lower back that meant it was going well. He wanted Cas to kiss him like this, all tongue and teeth, forever.

“Ah, fuck!” Castiel yelped, hand slapping the back of the couch, one foot on the floor now, hips working in tandem with Dean’s to ride each other. Dean didn’t know who was in control; Dean was bucking his hips and making the slide even more gorgeous, and Cas was rocking, pulling their thrusts into new curves, into sharp edges that made Dean cry out without knowing what he was saying.

Dean’s stockings were hot, prickling his skin every time Castiel’s weight thumped to his thighs; the fabric’s movements, the feel of it, it all made Dean feel unhinged on some level. Too good. He could feel it already but he wanted it, he wanted it _more_.

Castiel smiled widely, eyes crazed with lust and what Dean hoped was some form of love, something adoring, something only for him. Dean watched those blue eyes with rapt fascination, and as the moments passed, as their bodies burst into hot sweats, as breath became heavy and their limbs began to shake, he realised that what he was hoping Cas felt for him was actually what he was feeling for Cas. Connection, appreciation. Something beautiful.

It was okay to trip, sometimes. People passed by on the street and they fell in love for five seconds. People walked into a shop and bought clothes because they loved how they felt on their body, how confident they became as they wore them. People worked towards achieving their ambitions because there was a love there, something to want. Dean felt all of that for Cas, and he felt it too easily to care why. Maybe it would dissipate once they were done and Dean had thrown away the condom, but for the time their eyes met, with all the colour that surrounded their bodies, and the teasing that had them play rough and ride together, that was love.

“ _Ouhh..._ Fuck - fuckfuck! Put me on my back, Dean, flip over, flip―”

Dean yowled and rolled them both over, started fucking Cas down into the leather. He laughed as Cas’ ass involuntarily made a rude sound, and Cas muttered a disgruntled noise before he laughed too, and Dean was still laughing as they kissed. Castiel carded his fingers in Dean’s hair, shoulders rolled over the back of the couch, legs apart.

Dean grabbed both of Cas’ muscular thighs and opened them wide, making Castiel bellow out a surprised noise which described his pleasure at the position perfectly. He smothered Dean’s lips with hungry, hungry kisses, making soft noises, hands wandering down to pluck at Dean’s garter straps and snap them against Dean’s thighs.

Dean threw his head back and panted hard for air, grinning as he looked down at Castiel’s red cheeks and dark eyes, his swollen lips, his joyous smile. “That hurt.”

Castiel kicked Dean’s ass with his heel and sent Dean sprawling over him, but neither of them stopped fucking the other, hips pistoning fast and hard. Castiel bit Dean’s ear, growling. “That all you got, boy? You’re humping me like a horny puppy, is that all you can do for me?”

Dean lifted himself up on his hands, hips pounding against Castiel’s ass. The sound of their bodies hitting each other made magnificent claps in the air around them, pattern unbroken, even though Dean grunted with no rhythm at all. He chuckled, breathless. “You wanna go hard?”

“Don’t - challenge me - _uhff!_ \- if you don’t like to lose,” Castiel warned, thrill written plainly all over his expression. “Fuck me harder or don’t, it - _nhahh_ ... It’s up to you―!”

Dean’s pelvis flicked at the apex of each thrust now, channeling his whole body’s desire into that one, stabbing movement. “You just - don’t - _oh god_ \- you don’t like being teased, do ya? Hah!” He grabbed Castiel’s lurching tie and wrapped his hand into it, holding it tight, pretending he had some semblance of control over Cas.

Castiel growled, mouth wide open, legs curled over Dean’s back to press him in further. “You’re asking for it, Dean―”

“Yeah, I’m askin’, I’m askin’, give it to me, c’mon, c’mon...”

Castiel grunted hard, kicked Dean out of him, sent him two steps back on shaky, shaky legs. Dean’s stockings almost slipped on the smooth floor, but he retained all dignity. Castiel pointed at the sofa, inviting - _demanding_ Dean to sit.

Dean went with total willingness to obey, more into the obedience thing than he thought it was possible to be. For him, it was hotter when he fought it, because he loved having Cas snap at him, he loved the force in the other man.

Castiel shoved him back into the couch, and Dean barely had a moment to adjust his twisted garter clip under his thigh before Castiel threw himself into his lap, a hand between his legs to guide Dean’s cockhead into his sloppy hole. The panties’ waistband was tucked under Dean’s balls, giving Cas space to sink down cleanly. Dean let out a broken groan, watching the condom wrinkle slightly at the new movement, then watched Castiel’s lust-blown irises take in the sight of Dean.

Dean moaned under his breath, in full understanding now: he and Cas were both getting off on watching each other, seeing _that_ look in each other’s eyes. Maybe Cas was lonely too. Maybe this was the first time for him in years, too. Maybe magazine photographers got as little action as the underwear models they photographed. Or maybe they were both human like everyone else, and had finally made it through a dark time in their lives to finally reconnect with someone new, even if that person was only a stranger.

...Perhaps they didn’t need to be strangers after this. There was enough chemistry between them to fuel something fun and exciting, maybe enough to burn longer, build onwards from here on out.

It was a blurry possibility, but it was something Dean considered for a few seconds, at least.

This could be the start of something glorious for them.

Castiel rode Dean with the power of a storm in his body, their eyes not breaking apart even to blink. Dean soared within his own skin, yelling rather than moaning, such a desperation in his bones. He was a heavy raincloud now, laden with an orgasm that would come as an instant monsoon; he was waiting for it, building to it. Heavier and heavier, fucking deeper and harder as Cas worked him to the brink.

Castiel’s chest heaved with his breaths, his cock smacking Dean’s belly with every massive jerk of his whole body. The pounding was incredible, the shock of it never abating to anything lesser than lightning strikes.

“Hands off,” Castiel huffed, blinking at last. “Fuck me with your hands off me.”

Dean tentatively removed his grip from Castiel’s waist, but followed Castiel’s nod when he gestured to Dean’s face. “Fingers locked behind your head.”

Dean grinned unsurely, not quite relaxed against the armrest of the sofa, one elbow resting on the back of it. He’d seen this position in porn, but it wasn’t something he’d ever tried for himself. “Now I feel like a cocky douchebag,” he panted, between the breaths Castiel’s hard rhythm forced him to take.

“Is that not what you are?” Castiel laughed, fingers slipping upward to fiddle with Dean’s right nipple. Before he could find an answer, Dean’s breath became something he couldn’t control, shaking and gasping, completely uneven. He moaned, lost to the simmering sensations as Castiel plucked and pinched, then set his head down and licked. The tip of his unbelievably hot tongue flicked over Dean’s pointed nub, and Dean was gone, so drowned in how that felt, how it looked when Castiel had his mouth on that part of him.

Dean had seconds left, and he was going to break first.

Of course, Castiel retreated before Dean could snap. Castiel’s hips nearly halted completely, and he let Dean settle. _Made_ him settle, was probably more accurate. Dean complained with a pathetic whimper, but Castiel’s eyes sparkled, cruel and merciless. Dean loved it; oh, how he loved being tortured like that.

Castiel started to rock again, not slow at all; with one single bump, he was back to racing again, Dean’s cock slapping in and out of his tight hole without a guide, slipping straight back inside with a gulp each time. Castiel was making noises, filthy, loud wails that poured from his mouth on his exhales. Dean couldn’t breathe any more, his hands had gone cold behind his head, his legs were nothing but jelly. His hips weren’t moving, Cas was doing all the work - he had Dean bound with his dark eyes and playful fingertips alone.

He was so fucking powerful, and Dean didn’t think either of them would have it any other way.

Sweat cast a sheen over every part of their bodies; Dean’s stockings were stuck to him now, particularly behind his knees. His little lace panties were wet with lube and Castiel’s pre-come, which has also been flung across Dean’s abdomen; most of it was still wet, and Castiel’s elbows dragged through it as he caressed Dean’s throat, the briefest and most gentle strangle hold pressed to his neck. Dean didn’t worry about it; Castiel wasn’t going to hurt him.

Dean moaned like a helpless animal, voice destroyed and exhausted, but he kept going. Slowly, he slid his hands away from behind his head and put them back on Castiel’s hips - he liked that better, he liked feeling the energy in the bounce that Castiel still carried on with. Dean whined, wanting the end to come soon, because he was dying, he was _dying_ , everything was shutting down, enveloped by blinding pleasure instead.

Castiel rubbed Dean’s tummy with the flat of his hand, toying with his panties, with his garter belt. Dean didn’t want his hands anywhere else - Cas touched right, he played exactly the way Dean liked his games.

Relief came in the form of a kiss, filling up his mouth and distracting him from the almighty pressure in the rest of his body. The taste of Cas’ kiss was sweeter than ever before, nearly quenching his growing thirst. So close, so close. He needed it, he needed it so fucking badly.

Castiel groaned, a momentary show of vulnerability that Dean drank down with his breath, swallowing heat into his lungs as Castiel exhaled past their tongues. Dean’s gritty moan was responsive, beautiful even to himself; he was poisoned by how spectacular this felt, the way Cas kissed. It wasn’t just good, it was perfect. It was so fucking perfect for Dean’s lips - for his tongue, and his teeth, the taste of his mouth.

When Castiel gripped his fingers into Dean’s hair, Dean knew it was going to be over soon. He worried for a fleeting moment: would that be the end, would it go on past their climax? Would Dean be alone again without this bucking storm to tease him and play with him like a toy? Dean didn’t want it to end as badly as he needed the peak to come, forever wheeled up a ramp but not yet tipped to the edge. So close.

So close!

Castiel breathed against Dean’s open mouth, buttocks clenched, hips only jerking upward now, no more hefty thumps; Cas was tired, and was close too. Dean was doing nothing but crying out in need, hands grasping Castiel’s amazing thighs, fingers putting marks in his skin.

Cas made him feel precious with his kisses, and he touched him in all the places Dean liked to be touched, his nipples, his hair, tugged and pulled by grasping hands. He whispered Dean’s name on a groan, enjoyment in his deep sound. So fast, hard; they raced and they unwound, the sparks in their bodies becoming roaring flame.

And then Castiel met his gaze, having been searching for it for all the time Dean had been unable to see.

Dean just lay there and felt complete _awe_ \- awe at this cataclysmic sensation, awe at the quiet power of this other man - and he realised only once it was over that it had been orgasm. He’d never felt it that way before, not with his emotions. The condom was full, the heat pressed to Dean’s own cock. Castiel sighed with satisfaction, having felt Dean’s release.

Dean hadn’t lost to him. Castiel had let him win, but it counted. Dean smiled, stroking a shaking hand back through Castiel’s sweaty hair. Castiel was still breathing roughly, an acute frown between his eyebrows.

“Need me now?” Dean whispered, not sure if the words made sense, but they were definitely what he wanted to ask. “Do you need me, Cas?”

Castiel nodded, ardent gaze settled completely on Dean as he remained lying over him. Dean sucked his lower lip as he skimmed a tired hand down Castiel’s back, slipping in Cas’ sweat. His fingers found Castiel’s open entrance, wet, and hot as a flame. Dean pushed his hips up to help his flaccid cock slip out, and he ignored the brief touch of the condom as he pushed a single fingertip inside Castiel’s hole instead.

Castiel closed his mouth and hummed a relieved note. Dean held his eye, watching every flicker of feeling that passed across Castiel’s face. When he nudged Castiel’s prostate, Castiel’s lips parted again, eyes flickering closed for a second, then he dropped his head down against Dean’s cheek, exhausted.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean whispered, lips on Castiel’s forehead. His teeth dragged on the skin there, breathing softly. “Tell me what makes your knees weak.”

Castiel chuckled. “Being in control,” he answered, almost immediately. Dean smiled, unsurprised. Their breath was laboured still; Dean imagined being pressed together at the chest wasn’t helping either of them. Cas was sweaty, and heavy, and his ribcage was pressing painfully against Dean’s. And yet, neither sought to change their position.

“What else?” Dean whispered, running his fingertip in circles, nudging the loose rings of muscle at Cas’ entrance. Castiel’s legs spasmed, and Dean felt his cock twitch against his hip, but Castiel made no noise.

Then, Castiel made such a soft and gentle moan that Dean felt the need to kiss him again, warmed by how tender that sound was. “I... I like to be kissed,” Castiel muttered, eyelashes flicking on Dean’s cheek. He lifted his head up a bit, so their eyes could meet. Dean didn’t need a second to think before he sealed his lips to Castiel’s again, and Castiel smiled into the connection. Dean smiled too, and they had to break apart, lips pulled too taut by their grins to shape kisses any more.

A minute passed, in which they gazed slowly and softly into each other’s eyes. Dean felt the callback of his orgasm all over again, just because of Castiel’s steady contact.

Castiel swallowed, gaze dipping to Dean’s lips, then returning to his eyes. “I’d like to watch you sleep.”

Dean was surprised, and for a good few seconds, he wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Sleep... here?”

“Not right now, not here. Another time. You and I sleep together. But you sleep and I watch.” Castiel’s smile was innocent in a way that wasn’t even teasing this time; his request was real.

Dean considered that for quite a while, and during that time, Castiel pushed back onto Dean’s rubbing fingers, and Dean lost his full attention until the build of pleasure passed, and Castiel forced himself to settle again.

Dean finally answered, “Okay.”

Because what else could he really say? It wasn’t nearly as weird as some of the things Dean liked to do, and besides... he didn’t want to sleep alone any more. What was Cas’ request, if not a solution to Dean’s own needs?

Castiel started panting again, and Dean wasn’t even sure if the sudden rise in his skin’s temperature was caused by Dean’s fingers on his prostate, or by the thought of Dean lying there snoozing while Castiel stroked his face. Dean couldn’t even complain if it was the latter, because even his cock twitched at the thought, looking forward to it already.

Castiel’s frantic eyes caught Dean’s gaze, and Dean made absolutely sure not to blink, to hold his attention and to think as many warm and loving thoughts in his direction as possible, fingers working fast and arrhythmically to bring Cas off. He rubbed and tickled at the nub inside him, fingers wrinkled by the wet heat, but he would stay there until Cas had come. Castiel was writhing now, mouth open, ass turned upwards, hands clutched in Dean’s hair. He looked so desperate for it, whining, the skin around his eyes tense with need.

Dean chuckled, feeling proud of them both as Castiel’s mouth shot wide open, a breath taken that was shallow and huge at once, eyes watering with the effort of keeping them open as he came - just so he could see Dean.

Once the heat of Cas’ come had stopped spreading between their abdomens, Dean slipped his fingers out, thumbing at Cas’ clenching hole as he did. Castiel made a pretty noise, shivering all over. Dean smiled.

Still coming down from his high, Castiel shoved Dean off the couch and took his place, laughing when Dean got up grumbling, and shoved him gently too, before lying down on his side, arms around Castiel’s hips. Dean could have taken the push as a request for distance between them, but Dean figured he knew Castiel’s tricks now. Castiel certainly didn’t complain about the tight hug Dean gave him, nor the nuzzle that he planted against his chest.

Dean looked up at Castiel with a simmering satisfaction as Castiel began to stroke his hair, fingers apart, raking locks apart with a gentle, repeated push.

“You’re such a dick,” Dean said, in a tone that said the complete opposite.

Castiel gave him a beautifully sweet smile. “You look good in pink. I knew you would.”

Dean almost giggled, burying his nose down against Castiel’s chest. He glowed, exuding something nice and bright that he wanted to call happiness.

Cas smelled amazing, even smeared with human emissions and shiny with lube. Dean kissed his heart, not caring that the gesture was kinda soppy. Dean was a soppy guy, particularly after sex he enjoyed, with a person he more than liked - and he figured Cas would do well to know that.

Castiel curled one of Dean’s hands into his own, cupping its back to his lips. He kissed his knuckles, then breathed out against the skin, parting those fingers with his own. Holding Dean’s hand, Castiel lowered his head and met Dean’s lips in a touch.

Castiel kissed Dean slowly, and carefully, with a reverence that Dean hadn’t seen in him before. Like this, neither of them were the men they were when they met. Dean wasn’t cocky and headstrong like this, not the same way he was in front of a camera. Cas wasn’t aloof and disconnected, not at all. Dean wanted to know more about him.

It only took a handful of seconds before he gathered that Castiel was thinking the same thing about him. “Get up and get dressed,” Castiel told Dean. “There’s a bathroom in the hallway just outside; get washed up. Then I’m taking you to the bakery across the road.”

Dean’s toes curled, fingers smoothing happy shapes on Castiel’s skin, playing with his backwards tie. “You know I gotta watch my figure, don’t you?”

Castiel smacked a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. “You can’t say no to a drink, at least.”

Dean kissed his throat. “Mmm. And pastries.”

“There are plenty of pastries. And pies.”

Dean laughed softly, and found himself cuddled a little bit more intently by Castiel’s arms, another kiss pressed to his cheek.

Ahh, crap. Pies and cuddles were his ultimate weaknesses.

When Castiel helped Dean up to his feet and removed the condom for him, they were both smiling secret smiles to themselves, ones that spread into full grins of contentment and promise when their eyes met.

Dean shook his head in continued awe, then headed to the changing room to take off his come-smeared stockings and garters with broken bands. On the way there, he looked back once, twice, three times, always seeing Castiel watching him go, even while he picked up the discarded corset.

Dean loved how he looked at him, that was what it came down to. It wasn’t basic attraction, nor was it the slimy hunger that filled the eyes of most of the admirers of his photographs. It was... _Castiel_. He got a category all of his own.

Dean shut the door to the changing room, and shut his eyes in total relief, wearing a silent grin, clenched fists pumping the air. That was the most fun he’d had in years, and it wasn’t even over yet. Pie awaited.

Maybe Cas was the person Dean had been waiting for, the guy who made Dean feel the way he always wanted to feel. Hell, Dean had taken this career path in the first place because he wanted to feel the way he felt now, appreciated and wanted and beautiful. He’d always thought it would have come from seeing himself look good, not from being looked _at_. That surprised him.

Castiel Seraphine, of Seraphine Photography, and Dean Winchester, “professional”, happy to ruin other people’s underwear. There was potential, and Dean was looking forward to doing something with what they had.

Who knew, huh?

**{the end}**

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr user [defilerwyrm](http://defilerwyrm.tumblr.com)'s meta posts on [sub!Dean](http://bit.ly/1e4XKNk) and [dom!Cas](http://bit.ly/J8sV0N) inspired me, and it just spiralled downwards from there.
> 
> Yes, [stuffing white bread into underwear](http://bit.ly/196JwIP) is something models do.
> 
> If you looove somebody, leave them kudos


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